Kendal Called, I Wish I Never Answered, Episode 4: Electric Light Organ Grinder, The Second Coming and Oral Threads

As Paddy lurches off into the gaggling masses of canvas domes, a cacophony of twisted sounds fills the air. Thousands of goblins chattering, beats, rhymes, melodies. Pure audible desynchronisation. Those inconsiderate bastards, I just want peace.
I slide myself back into the tent and feel the sweet relief of stuffy third-hand air.
I feel every molecule interact with my senses. With every intake of breath I not only smell the dank and putrid foist of the atmosphere, I feel it too. I taste it. I feel part of it.

Just as some form of comfort begins to envelope my body, I start to feel more confident. I want interaction. Tank lies in the corner of the tent, trying to sleep. It seems his body is simply rejecting the novel chemical that drifts through his blood stream. Strauss is sitting silently, busying himself with sleeping bags and zips and pointless paraphernalia. He seems happy and settled.

We must talk.

“Imagine being in side your own teeth.” I excitedly eject, following up the suggestion with several loud clicks of my own gnashers.
“Imagine being inside your own teeth whilst trying to eat some other teeth.”
I am aware that this sounds particularly odd, even in the current circumstances. The reason this seemed like an important topic was that I had an episode of Futurama stuck in my head. It starts with a faux commercial for “Thompson’s Teeth: Strong enough to eat other teeth.”

Before Strauss can make any kind of sense from my words, there is a knock on the tent door (or what passes for a knock on a tent). “You lot in there?”

It was Tasty Jesus; I am thrilled, as I need interaction. I feel compelled to experience things. I open the flap.
“Alright lads, how’s it going?” comes the foolish question. Of course he believes we have followed his instructions. Eat only a third and wait an hour. Take it easy. He looks at us.
“You lot ok?”
“Yeah. Great.” I burst. I had taken on a particularly odd motif with my speaking, as I was later informed. Every sentence I uttered came forth as if they were spoken with the very last gasp of air in my lungs. As if I was trying to make each sound whilst using as little oxygen as possible.
“How much have you lot had?”
“How much what?” asks Strauss, as if his honour had been blemished.
“The acid. How much did you do?”

A brief pause that lasts hours.

“All of it.”

A brief pause that lasts aeons. Continents drift. New species flourish then die. Civilisations rise and fall.

“ALL OF IT?”

His high-pitched query is quickly followed by the most manic laugh I have ever heard. It is at this point I realise he is sitting astride my leg and is idly humping it.

“Really? All of it? Fuck me, that’s a dose! I better catch up.”
He pulls out the remains of his cosmic sugar cube. Over the course of the day, he has only consumed around half. He bangs the rest down his throat. He is already in the midst of other chemicals so is decent and appropriate company in the tent.

I suddenly feel exceptionally thirsty, the kind of thirst that drives a man to drinking stagnant water. My mouth is as dry as any Ghandi cliché you care to mention. As it is thoroughly dark now, we are using the wind up lantern that Tank had purchased for this trip. It is an amazing bit of kit. Wind it up a bit and you get light. Simple.
The charge we had previously given it was almost gone and the lantern gave off a low level glow, barely enough to give everything inside the tent a sinister blue hue.

“Smart, let me wind up the lamp?” pleads a gleeful Tasty Jesus.
He grabs the lamp and winds furiously.
As he does the lamp bursts into life and showers the tent in glorious luminescence. I see an electric blue wave front explode from the body of the lamp. I watch as this bright blade cuts it’s way through the darkness. When it reaches me the cool blue energy washes over me, momentarily satiating my thirst. Once the light has reached the deepest and darkest depths of our tent, our universe, I sigh.
“There is not enough light in the universe to quench my thirst.”
I proceed to push my teeth against the lantern to get as much of the light inside me as I can. It works, it makes me feel good. I can see the effect the light is having on my body.

I sit back feeling more content than I had ever felt before, I could remain like this for eternity.

Suddenly my mouth feels odd, unfamiliar, and alien. Alien like when you look down at your feet and wiggle your toes, but you don’t see them move. That feeling of frustration and confusion that has yet to gestate into fully formed panic and despair, only to realise you’re looking at the feet of the person you are sitting next to.
I know I am moving my tongue, but I can’t feel it moving. I can only feel the things it touches…and it feels like it is touching some very strange things. Have I OD’d? Have I absorbed too much light? Of course, that must be it. I am more light than human.
I open my mouth tentatively and feel every nanometre of muscle stretch in my jaw. I whip my tongue from side to side. I feel it break through what I can only describe as, strands of electric thread, stretched tightly between my upper and lower teeth. Each flick of the tongue breaks these threads with and audible spark and flashing blue burst of energy, then the thread is reattached, waiting for the next flick of the tongue.
My jaw clicks wildly and the sparks in my mouth jolt my mind.

Strauss and Tasty Jesus are in their own little conversation. But I know they’re watching me.

They watch me.

Next Time: The Futility of Money, Too Many Beers and Wanker in a Hat

Kendal Called, I Wish I Never Answered, Episode 3: Catfish in the Trees, Tank Makes Tracks and Pretence of Normality

Strauss looked at me with a mixture of concern and intense disgust. Tank stood close by, hunched, as if ready to pounce. Evilness spread across his face. His mouth cut a fine slash underneath his sharpening eyes.
"We need to go. They're onto us. They're sitting down. They think they're better than us."
Strauss eyed me once more, this time with suspicion, "I see. Let's move."

It was raining heavily. I already had on a mac. We wandered to the nearest, calmest, most subtle place we could; a big marquee framework, without the canvas cover, instead it was made of Maypole tip strips of ribbon.
It was more air than material, but the colours looked safe.
We sat on a bench and I rested my face in my hands in an attempt to climb inside my own soul and rearrange a few basic principles.

The rain is tearing down and I can feel each drop trying to merge with my body. It feels like someone is driving nails into me, nut I like it.
"I'll show them!"

Strauss, getting wet through, is struggling try to get his army surplus poncho on.
Both Tank and I start to help. Very slowly and carefully, in case we damage the fine, gossamer fabric that is before us.
"I can do it! I invented the Krypton Factor." Strauss cried.
I turn away, dejected. I suddenly feel an intense hatred for Army Surplus stores. How dare they come between Strauss and me!

I look over to my right; I see a massive canvas that was an ongoing piece of spray can art. It was nearly finished.
It must've been around 15 feet long by 7 feet high. The images, though innocuous in the cold harsh light of sobriety, were now twisted and piercing and, I knew for certain, were designed especially to intimidate me.
"That's not inert! Look at it!"
On the left third of the canvas was a giant, humanoid, pug, wearing a pink, neon rabbit outfit. The backdrop was a tight knit mesh of cubes, messing with my perspective. To the right of this abomination were 5 tree trunks. No foliage in site. Weaving in and out of these uprights was a long fish with the face of a cat.
"The dog. It's a rabbit. It's trying to get away with this madness. I'm powerless to stop it. We all are!"
Strauss stares at the dog. I'm sure I can see his vision. It's a stiff gaze of anguish aimed right at the pug. He relents, "We should leave this place."
"We can't leave now, look at the water!"
The grass was moving. Lights were swinging in the wind, the low throb of the Zoutons in the background on the main stage, my heartbeat reminding me to breath, all these things were causing the grass to undulate.
"There's no way we can move. We must wait for calmer waters."
My hands are gripping onto Strauss.
"I agree. It's no good. Not right now."

All this while, Tank is sitting there, inches from the edge of darkness. He's only moments from full, moral, breakdown. He could go at any minute.
"Look Strauss. We have to go. There'll be events."
"Yes! Excelsior!"

We rise, uneasy, it takes a few seconds before we are able to adapt to the shifting terrain.
"Tank, we are going back to the tent. It's better there."
"Good."
Tank stands and walks off with the intensity and determination of an earthmover. Each tenacious step felt like it was rattling my insides as Strauss and I struggled to keep up.

Once we were back into the camping area, Tank slowed down. Strauss went up to talk to him, obviously making sure he was ok.
This is not how I perceived it.

What are they doing? What are they saying? They're looking at me. I thought we were in this together. They're plotting. I knew it.

Every time they looked at me, their eyes were full of treachery and badly disguised malice.

No! It's fine. It's all in my head.

They laugh and look at me again. The look lasts a thousand years. I laugh back. It is fine. It's all in my head.probably. I play along. Be on my guard. Just in case. Prepare for the worst. I could take Strauss with a quick reaction. I can outrun Tank. I can do this. Right now, it's fine. I'm sure its fine.

They laugh again. They're voices are whispers. A baffling white noise of hisses and pops. Another look. Another laugh.
"HAHAHA! Yeah, good one."
You wait you bastards.

We near our tent. There is a giant yurt close by. On it is a banner that reads "Happy Birthday Killa".

What does that mean? There cant be a killer here. But there are thousands of people here. There must be some bad people. There must be thieves, child abusers, rapists.maybe even a murderer. If it's his birthday, he might want to go on a celebratory killing spree. Jesus! We're done for.

"We are back. That is fine." Strauss claims, somewhat foolishly.
"Fine? How can it be fine? It's going to be a blood bath!"
"What?"
"You'll see."
I could see he was worried.I was winning.

We climbed into the tent. Suddenly I feel very safe. So relaxed. Everything that has happened seems like a lifetime ago. Once the tent is zipped up, the outside world ceases to exist. There is just we three, in a tent. That is the universe.

I get bored of this cosmic, status quo.
"They never did this in The Somme. I'm opening the tent."
"No! You don't know what'll happen." protested Strauss.
I pull the door open, the most wonderful rush of cool, fresh air bursts into our cocoon.
Delicious. I shut the door again. Allow the tent to get stuffy once more.
"BRAHHH!" I fling the door open again. More fresh air.
I continue to do this until I suddenly feel sad.

They really didn't do this at The Somme. A cruel knot or remorse begins to grow in my stomach. I sit, legs curled up, arms wrapped round my shins, gazing out into the wasteland before me. Lamenting.

Suddenly there is a familiar voice.
"You ok?"
"What, me? Yeah. I am great." I lie.
I look up through watery eyes to see one of Tasty Jesus' comrades, "Paddy".
My voice is full of authority and certainty, but my body betrays me. I am a visual wreck.
"Cool, erm, you calling it a night then?" asks Paddy.
"Probably."
"Good. That's good. Have a good one." He says these words before he recognises the irony in the phrase. I am quite obviously not having a "good one". In fact, I am currently having a shocker.
Paddy walks away. He must've drawn the short straw. Been sent to check on us. That poor bastard, he doesn't understand. No one does.

"Catch you late, Paddy!"

We're doomed!

Next Time: Electric Light Organ Grinder, The Second Coming and Oral Threads

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Kendal Called, I Wish I Never Answered, Episode 2: The Whisky Cats, Balloons and Fear & Loathing in the Comedy Tent.

After a terrible night of non-sleep, I dragged myself shivering and grumbling out of the tent and into the brutal reality of a festival campsite, at 6:30am.
It had been raining for most of the night, so as you can imagine, things were a bit grubby. I wandered off for a pee. Sadly there were no female genitalia on display. I could've done with cheering up.

As I wound my way back to the tent (I decided to go the long way back so I could have a little walk round the rest of the camp) I gradually saw more and more people rising. Just ordinary people, going about their early morning routines. Bastards. I bet they all had a lovely sleep with sleeping bags.

I got back to my tent kicked my boots off and went inside, where I sat, eating a tinned "All day breakfast".
This monstrosity of canned catering is nothing short of an assault on your constitution. There were many things, in that can that I had never seen before, nor do I wish to see them again.
As I sat there I watched the other festival campers pass back and forth, trudging through the claggy earth. A neighbour close by poked his head out of his tent, "Fucking hell, where're my bastarding wellies? It's like the fucking Somme out here!"
I gave a mental round of applause for his vigorous use of English at such an early time of the day.

Strauss, Tank and the Tasty Jesus Crew rose shortly later. After cracking open a few early morning cans of beer and discussing the previous days events, word got round that the main area had opened. Off we went to sample the delights of day two. Little was I to know that the "delights" were not going to be as all together delightful as I was anticipating.

Tasty Jesus went off to a soup stall for some pumpkin based liquid scenario. Now Tasty Jesus is fond of partaking in numerous varieties of amateur chemistry. He'll try anything and he seems to get his hands on a miscellany of chemicals, without much trouble.
"I asked if there were any 'mushroom' soup. Soupy Joe said 'No. But I can do one better.'"
Out of his pocket, TJ produced a small foil cube, the contents of which, I was told, was a sugar cube, infused with LSD.
"You fiend, do these things just rain on you?" Strauss asked.
"You just need to know the language."
"Not really," I said, "you just look like you're constantly fucked and need some variety of chemical to keep your blood pumping."
"Well, a little nibble of this will keep me going for a while."

Myself, Strauss and Tank headed for the main stage.
The Whisky Cats had just gone on, they are a quite an amazing band. Poor timeslot, but well worth appearing on the main stage. It was a collection of ragtime numbers, with an undercurrent of swing and mild indie pop. It was rocking. No banjo though. That made me sad. The triumph of the set came when these ragtime ragamuffins covered "I like to move it, move it!". It was perfect. The lyrics were bang on; the brass section blew everyone away with their arrangement. The crowd went nuts.

Once The Whisky Cats finished, we meandered round the area looking at the random small stages, as was our theme. On one stage was a band that were pumping out a standard set of indie tunes. Tight trousers and complicated hair. But they were palatable, not least because the singer was an animated, red headed beauty, who bounced around the stage like a maniac. There was a lot of bouncing, and parts of her seemed to be having a bouncing competition of their own.
"I'm so happy so many of you came to see us, we weren't expecting this big a turn out. Thank you so much.. Did anybody see the streets last night?"
And handful of muted "yeah"s sounded off around the packed tent.
"Did you enjoy it?"
An even smaller response rippled around the crowd.
"I'm not going to slag off Mike Skinner, but all I'll say is that I'd have like to have heard some of their older songs. Sung well!"
Cheers.
I liked this girl.
Sadly, like all the women in my life, she finished up and disappeared while I had my back turned.

"I'm going to put something out there, let's go back to the tent and have a few drinks."
"Strauss, that is a grand idea. I commend you for your plan forming ability."
Back we went to the tent. We drank; quite a lot actually, Tasty Jesus came back with a balloon. He sat down and breathed the 'air' of the balloon in and out until he laid back smiling.
"What the fucks that""
"Laughing gas!"
"Interesting. Fetch!"
Off he trotted and returned with a balloon for each of us. I was sceptical that it was Nitrous Oxide for a few reasons. Firstly, as far as I am aware, NO2 is a volatile liquid, so I wondered how the little scally who was selling these balloons managed to decant such a substance into a soda bottle without losing it all to evapouration. Secondly, Tasty Jesus did not laugh, he just smiled like a goon.
We all grabbed our balloons and ventilated the contents in and out. It was mad. Everything started to echo, colours exploded, proper nuts stuff. 20 seconds later, usual service was returned.
"That was alright. The echoes of all the balloons going up and down made quite a funky beat."
Conversation got round to drug usage and TJ produced his little acid cube and took another little nibble.
"Are you lot not partaking in anything this weekend?" TJ asked
I've never taken drugs. I've been around lots of people who have and found them intensely boring company. Coke doesn't interest me. I'm a big lad, if I wanted to be able to walk though walls, I wouldn't need chemical enhancement for it. Nor do I wish to spend a fortune on something that will make my cock and balls small(er). Opiates don't really interest me as I like to be up and about and amongst things when I'm having a good time. Lying, monged out, in the corner doesn't really appeal.

I'm not morally against drug taking, what people do is their own business. I love to drink. I put a chemical(lots of booze) into my body(well buff) to produce an effect(being totally charming and not falling over at all, much.).
The only problem I have with drugs is the manufacturing process, it's the exact opposite of fair trade, plus the end user gets a diluted substance so a bunch of cunts can get rich.

Strauss, a former proponent of the chemical arts piped up, "You said the only thing you'd be interested in trying is acid, didn't you?"
This is true. I find the idea of having a totally altered perception of things very intriguing.

After more drinking we headed back to the main area, leaving TJ alone with his peeps. We wanted to get to the comedy tent early so we could see Howard Marks. After a bit of a leisurely stroll, Tasty Jesus popped out from behind a massive oak tree, like a cartoon, woodland, villain.
"I got you something."
He handed over 3 small foil cubes
"Nibble off a third. It'll take about an hour to kick in."
Usually I'd have told him to fuck off, but curiosity got the better of me.

An hour later, around 9:30pm, we were standing at the back of the comedy tent, enduring some hideous, cockney beat poetry.
"Anything yet?"
"Unless imagining a ginger cunt, in a leather trilby, talking utter bollocks, is a symptom, I'm getting nothing."
"Fuck it," I said, "We all weigh about twice as much as TJ. Let's get amongst it!"
Full of foolish bravado I flicked the rest of the sugar cube into my mouth. Strauss and Tank followed suit. We all have a decent understanding of biology and chemistry so our drunken logic seemed bullet proof.

As it happened, initial third was just slow to take hold. By 10:00pm I was seeing traces, sounds were echoing, people were looking.
Were they looking at me? Fuck! This is off the third I took before. In two hours I'll be dripping of the ceiling from the rest of it. Why are people looking?
I was stood at the back of the tent, not at all paying attention to Howard Marks; he was just reading his old Loaded articles anyway.
I was receiving text messages. I was trying to reply and focus on the bright screen. That was difficult.
I wish people would let me write this text in peace. That woolly hat has a face. It's looking at my text. Fuck off hat; I'll text you when you give me your number. The man that hat is around is a slave. It's Master Blaster from Mad Max. The tent is way brighter than I recall. Everyone is laughing. I bet they're laughing at me. Bastards. Fuck, this tent is breathing on me, its breath is cutting through me. The crowd's heads inflated and deflated as the tent inhaled and exhaled. Waves of expanding and retracing faces and they have the nerve to laugh at me. They can't hide it. I know the score.

I glance at Strauss and Tank. Their faces contorted with wicked grins and jet black eyes burning into me.

It's time to leave.

Next Time: Catfish in the trees, Tank makes tracks and Pretence of normailty.
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Kendal Called, I Wish I Never Answered, Episode 1: Bush Adventures, Skanking Nanas and Pyrates.

Well, where to start? It was an interesting weekend. I think its only fair to begin from the beginning. It is conventional. Some may say it is clichéd. Those people can get stuffed.

On Friday, I went to Kendal Calling, a medium sized music festival held, this year, 15 minutes down the road from my house.
My weekend didn't actually get interesting until Saturday night, but I feel I should set the scene.
Because there's a lot to get through, this will probably be a multi part blog. Arrogant of me to assume you're interested? Well you've read this far.

Even though it was a short car journey away, we decided we would camp. It's what festivals are for.
There were three of us in our party who, for anonymity's sake, I will give pseudonyms.
There was "Strauss", a good friend from school and uni, his older brother, "Tank" and myself, the amazing "Nettofabulous".
Tank was going to Millets to purchase camping equipment and I asked him to pick me up a sleeping bag, which he did. What a kind lad. Shame the fucker forgot to bring it!
There was the usual long cue to get in to the camping area, a long trek after the ticket check. Standard stuff.
We pitched our tent next to another old school friend and his pals, I shall call him "Tasty Jesus" as he has a beard, long hair and he's full of shit."Tasty" will be explained in a later post.

After sitting about, drinking for a while, waiting until the main area opened, I became overwhelmed with the pressing urge to do a number one toilet time. Rather than hit the festival loos and cue until for ages, I ducked off into some trees for a tinkle. After I had finished and tucked myself back in I returned to the narrow path in the forest area.

"Argh, there's a man!"
Whoops! There were four, somewhat attractive, young, ladies in various stages of urination. There were two girls on either side of the path.
"Don't worry, I've seen girls peeing before. You, my dear, have a good strong stream. Like a racehorse. Would it be a faux pas to offer a high 5?"
One of the girls had finished and was trying to pull her skirt down and underwear up at the same time whilst holding a drink. "It's too late now isn't it?"
"I'm afraid so, there's no modesty to be saved now." I replied.
"Just as well. I have no loo paper so I'll have to drip dry."
At this point I wanted to hug her, not in a sexual way.well maybe a bit.
The third girl, shocked by my sudden appearance on the path, fell back on to her arse, as she was mid squat, whilst peeing. I found this funny. As did girl four who had already finished and was casually waiting for her friends to finish up. Nobody helped girl three as she tried to push her self off the floor whilst simultaneously holding her skirt and pants out of the way of her pee AND holding them in such a way as to protect her modesty.
I would like to say I was very adult about the whole situation and just walked on, keeping eye contact at all times. I would like to say that, but I would be lying. Of course I looked at the front bums on display. Three of them. No hair in sight. I'd like to think that girl four had a massive 70s bush, to balance things out.

Back at the tent, we filled up our hip flasks with lashings of wonderful Jack Daniels and hit the festival area.
We got our bearings by just wandering about. The only band we really wanted to see was Goldie Lookin Chain, so we stopped by some of the smaller stages to see some unknowns; this is the best way I feel.

The first act we saw was one man with an acoustic guitar. He was called Captain Hotknives. It was pretty obvious from the outset that he was either a comedy act, or just an utter cunt. His first song was called "I hate babies." With the sing-a-long chorus of "I hate babies. I fucking hate babies."
It's worth bearing in mind that this was at two in the afternoon. Parents with children shook their heads in disgust as 50 drunken revellers sang along at the top of their voices. Another hit with the audience was the remarkable tale of how he stole his grandmother's drug money, "I skanked me nana". Good times.

We chuckled off for more wandering before a few drinks, then off to the main stage to see Goldie Lookin Chain. They were amazing. New instrumentals for some of their tracks. Some poorly, yet hilariously choreographed dance moves. Shout outs to the crowd, such as "I hope you have the best weekend ever. I hope you get a finger in, even if you're a girl."
They did not let me down.

Headlining were The Streets. Understandably I wanted nothing to do with that Brummy, mockney, scum cunt and his pseudo, street poetry. His very existence makes me want to crawl up inside myself and eat my auditory canal.
Instead of The Streets we went back to where we saw Captain Hotknives. This time we were met with "Pyrates". Three men in their early 20s singing authentic sea shanties dressed as proper pirates. At first we three thought, "What the fuck is this?"
We hung around a little longer and realised that we should not have been so quick to judge. People of all ages were dancing proper jigs, linking arms and spinning round. Every time an "Yarrrrrrr!" was uttered in a song, the audience responded with an "Yarrrrr!" of their own. The lead singer (Captain?) seemed overcome by this, "You lot are good with the "Yarrrrrrrr!" We should take you on tour with us"
The audience response was a deafening cacophony of "Yarrrhaaarrrrrhaaaaarrrrrrr!"

"Have you ever seen a program called "Sharpe"? This is the song that is featured during the opening credits"
What followed was a rousing and emotional cover of "Over the hills and far away." Everyone was really into it. Singing along at the top of their voices. There were TWO mandolin solos, one of which was played behind the first mate's head, a la Hendrix.
It was outstanding!

At this point I came up with the idea of getting Sean Bean to be in the video for it, if they ever release it as a single. Sean Bean on a rocky outcrop, playing a rifle customised into a guitar with a helicopter sweeping around him filming it, while his regiment are behind him killing an oncoming French battalion. I must make some phone calls to arrange this.

Final song played, "Thank you all so much, you made this an amazing night for us." At this point there was the slightest of silences and I spotted my chance.
I took a deep breath. "YARRRRRRRRRRRR!"
A smile broke out on the band's face as the rest of the audience waited for my "Yarrr" to end before producing the biggest "Yarr" of the night in response. I felt good.

After this, the was simply more wandering, a bit of pizza, a piss then back to the tent for a sleepless, uncomfortable, freezing cold night. I still had no sleeping bag.

If you've read this far, you may be wondering what the point of this blog is. This is merely the opening episode.

Next Time on Kendal Called, I Wish I Never Answered: The Whisky Cats, Balloons and Fear & Loathing in the Comedy Tent.

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Kendal Called...

These are a few photos of some things at Kendal Calling. Look at them and it'll be like you're there...in monochrome.
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Stripper Story #2...this one is not like #1.

When at university, you find your social circle explode in size.
At school, I had a handful of close friends, that is all I needed, but at the grand old age of 18 I left home and moved to Dundee to lay the foundations of an exciting career in mechanical engineering.

After a few months of the hedonism that comes with living in halls of residence less than 5 minutes from the student union, I found myself a member of many different groups of friends. In some circles I was a fringe member, in others I was a key player. These circles crossed over and intertwined so you'd always end up hearing about pretty much everyone's adventures and mishaps.

This story came to me a few days after the event. On the night in question, I was present but not paying enough attention to the heroine of the piece to fully realise what was happening. With hindsight, of course, the events I actually witnessed made perfect sense.

The heroine in question was, and probably still is, named "Kat".
Kat was a student.
Kat was also a stripper.
What a marvellous cliché. She paid her way through university by dancing naked and performing industrial strength lesbionics for money.
She made a lot of money too, and I could see why. Though she wasn't stunning looking, she was remarkably well constructed body. On one hallowe'en, she was out on the lash in the union in bra, pants and stripper heels. This is when we all found out she had an extra nipple. Nothing at all John Merrick-y, but noticeable.

Although I wouldn't like to generalise about ladies in the stripping industry, I will say this...Kat was a slag!
She was epic in her sexploits. But this is by far the worst/most depressing story I heard out her.

As was the commonality on a wednesday afternoon, I had no lectures. No one did. Wednesday afternoons were reserved for sport. My sport was getting hopelessly shitfaced and trying to pull the bar maids. I could've gone pro, but I didn't know how to pace myself and often burntout before the end of the night.

Once 12 noon hit, I would often trot to The Liar, a bar in the union named after a Stephen Fry novel. This was the gathering point for all the circles I was involved in.
Not a day went by where I could walk in alone and not see a group of people I knew well enough to drink with.
And so it was on this afternoon. Pint of strongbow in hand I marched up to a booth and settled with a few chums.

After a couple drinks, you can always tell if its going to be an all dayer.
This day, the banter was funny, the cider was sweet and the times were good. This was obviously going to be more than a casual few pints before going home for Supernoodles & beans and a torrid bout of self abuse.

At around 6pm, Kat and a few others walked by, exchanged pleasantries with everyone. And walked on by, continuing "the lap" that any ex-Dundee student would know well, before the Liar was turned into a horrific, trendy, wine bar.

A few hours later, our paths crossed again, she was wearing something different. I didn't think much of it. Not everyone was as slapdash as I. I was happy to role up to the pub after lectures, drink into the early hours, crash where I could, then go to lectures the next day having not even showered, let alone change clothes. I assumed Kat had gone home, after seeing us, and prepared for a night out, like any woman would.

The night continued as any night out would. Nothing of note happened. No bouncer led expulsions, no tree climbing, nothing. The only memorable thing that happened, that stuck in my mind, was seeing Kat a number of times, wearing different clothes each time. But as I wasn't really paying a great deal of attention, it didn't strike me as interesting enough to take my attention away from the slinky feline barmaid in Mono, the union night club.

A few days later, on the way home from lectures, I called In to see o cohort of mine who was present that night.
A gypsy haired scot, called Dave, with teeth like pearls and a disposition to dress like a cuban.

"Fuck, did you see Kat on wednesday night?" He shouted as he opened the door to his flat.
"Nice to see you too. Milk and two sugars please!"
He hands me a can of Miller's
"Good lad. What about Kat?"
"You know how she kept turning up in different clothes? You'll never guess why!"
"You need to calm down a little. Go have a wee, sit down, take a deep breath and tell me."
"Katie's just had a shit, obviously, I'm not going in there for a while!" He declared.

Katie was his sister, a beautiful, cherub faced girl who was as sweet as anyone could be. But she farted lots. Also we formed a weird synchronisity. If I was to turn up, unannounced, she would, without fail, have a terrifically noxious shit, whose smell would permeate the entire premises, no more than 10 mins before I showed up. One time it was so bad it was like walking into a wall of stench. I could feel it in my eyes. My hair was crying. Katie was hanging out the living room window getting fresh air. Not at all healthy.
But I digress.

Dave sat down as we opened our cans.
"Just after we saw her the first time, she went round the corner and got talking to some dude. Within half an hour the were back at her place and she fucked him."
This did not strike me as weird. She would do this quite often. Also her place was 30 seconds, door to door from the union.

"Hardly breaking news, is it Dave. She's had more meat in her than a butcher's dog."
"Yeah, but when she finished with him, she jumped in the shower, washed herself out. Then came back out." Dave's use of certain phrases are one of the things that first endeared him to me.

"Yeah, she's efficient, I'll give her that."
"How many different outfits did you see her in? I counted three. Katie counted 6!"
Penny drops.
"No! You're fucking joking!"
"I'm not. She fucked five different lads on wednesday night. And after she got crammed by each one, she kicked them out, flushed herself out, got changed and came back to the union!"
"Nah, that's bollocks." I couldn't believe that even Kat would be that crass.
"Ask her and ask Knox. He fucking knows two of the lads!" Chris Knox was a tall, podgy ex bf of Katie. Oddly likable, but a bit of a tit sometimes. Word has it, he shagged a girl of dubious legality, on stage, during a karate club night out at a private strip show.
I should change his name...fuck it!

"She pulled, took home, fucked and kicked out five different lads in one night? She's a master of logistics! Five lads, including costume changes in 7 hours. I don't know whether to be impressed or sickened, Dave."

"I know, right. She told Katie 'I wanted to see how many I could get through. I would've managed more but a couple wanted foreplay and wanted to cuddle. Bastards!'."

This I found hilarious, heartwarming and alarming in equal measure.
"You aren't joking are you?"
"Nope."

But the story doesn't end there. It gets worse. A few months later, after not seeing Kat on the circuit for a while, Katie informs me that she's pregnant! Possibly to one of three of the five as they were the only unprotected liaisons she had had in the past few months "probably".
"How's that going to affect uni and stripping and...fucking about?"

"She's not bothered. Uni will provide support and she says that 'All the dirty old men at the strip club love that I'm preggers!'
She says she's never made so much money. The bigger she gets, the more money they give her."

That's right. She was still getting her muff dived upon, for the delight of seedy old men with erections, while her first born wriggled around inside her.

Now, I realise that this is not as much of a jovial little tale as the young lady with the twix. I felt it important to include this story for balance.

Going for a shower now. I feel soiled just recounting this awful event.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

I'm a customer, so why do I feel like I'm asking for a favour?

My landlords have been consistent arse holes. it took them over 6 months to do work that was supposed to be completed within a week of me moving in.
On Friday I awoke to a "Drip, drip, dripping" noise. I could tell that it was pissing down outside as when I looked out my bedroom window, I could see water falling from the sky. That is a big clue.
"Fuck!" I thought, as I am quite the smooth tongued Casanova in the morning.
Low and behold, my flat had sprung another leak.

Last time this happened the landlord jumped to action and 3 month later had erected a partition wall to cover the leaking wall.
That's right. Instead of fixing the roof, where the leak occurred, they basically built an obstacle to stop me from seeing water flooding into my bedroom while, at the same time making the bedroom slightly smaller.
I took exception to this and a week later the outside of my building was littered with scaffolding and the roof was fixed.
I was victorious, in the most minor way possible.

This new leak occurred above the living room window and dripped onto a number of my books. I found this most infuriating, to the point where I actually said "Fuck!" as opposed to thinking it.

Now, to the withholding of sarcasm. People who are in a position of relative power are likely to take advantage of such power. I know I would.
I know that one wrong word, to the bint at the letting agency who deals with my property, would lead to a delay in getting the leak fixed.
Here is the phone call we had, with what I wanted to say in *~*.

Me: "Hi there, I've got a leak in my flat."

Landlord Bint:"Must be all this rain we're having."

Me: *That explains it, thanks.*
"Yeah, probably. Well some of it is leaking in through the living room window."

LB: "Well we just did the pointing on the outside last year. That should have stopped any chance of a leak."

Me: *Oh, you got me. I made it up to brighten your day.*
"Well there is water dripping from the window into the flat.from the outside. It's only dripping when it's raining so it's not coming from upstairs."

LB: "It's probably the rain then. It hasn't half been coming down."

Me: *Do you have someone who looks after you? Perhaps I could speak to an adult.*
"Yeah, it's awful, but it's coming into the flat."

By now I feel rather annoyed

LB:"It's probably the angle the rain's falling."

Me:*Well it's falling at the precise angle required to get into my flat, do you not see this as a problem?*
Silence

LB:"Everyone has gone home for the weekend and the building repairs manager is on holiday. I'll ring you back in ten minutes."

Me:"OK. Speak soon."

I can't believe people like this are in charge of builders (my Landlord agency is a large building firm also). Building is far too much of a delicate and intricate job to allow builders to do it, I can't imagine what happens when they have Muppets like this in charge.

Actually I can.Leaky windows happen.from poor pointing!

The phone rings.

Me:*Hello.*
"Hello."

LB:"Hi, yeah, it's me. I've had a word with Alan and he says it's probably from all this rain and the angle it was falling."

Me:*If the rain was falling up, I might accept this line of conversation.*
"Did Alan say anything about fixing the leak or changing the angle of the rain?"

LB:"What?"

Me:*Whoops!*
"Did Alan say anything about stopping the rain coming in?"

LB:"Oh yeah, We'll send a cherry picker round on Monday. We have to get a permit to use the pavement and hire a cherry picker to fix it. It'll cost a fortune"

Me:*I'll go halfers then, eh?*
"I can imagine. I'll be at work on Monday. Let yourself in if you need to be inside."

Goodbyes said, then hang up

So as it stands the leak is being fixed tomorrow, luckily it hasn't rained since Friday.
Last night though, when turning on the living room light, the bulb lit, as is the convention in such affairs, but then it went off. It did this a few time while I flicked the switch repeatedly, like a man who knows what he's doing would do.
I changed the bulb and gave the fitting a few jabs with a hammer and now the light wont work at all.

Luckily I have the day off tomorrow, so now I can be present when these craftsmen are at work. I can stop LB from rummaging around my flat and sniffing my underwear (She sounded like a snuffler!).
I can also tell them about the piss poor putty job that has been done around the windows. It's dried and crumbles off and the glass is barely held in. I suppose I should tell them about the light fitting too.

"Why are you living there?" I hear you ask.
It's cheap and big and in a very handy location.also, I am a glutton for punishment.
I once had a landlord who tied to charge me for breaking my own microwave. He also tried to get me to live with a strange chinaman called Mark.
I liked that landlord.
He had balls.

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

I love the internet...

This is an EMail that was received by a dear twitter friend of mine, @dirtygemz

It may be the weirdest thing I've encountered on the web ever!

It's long, but amazing.

Read on.

BRITNEY IS MINE!!!

Dear Scientists,

You as a scientist bare the responsibility to save
humanity, the code to infinity as been cracked and i
am here to give you the data.

it is now your job to give up on jealousy and start
your mission of experimenting this science, i am unable
to give you the entire data right now because i do not
believe you can handle the truth. i want you all to get
on your feet and start the experiments, as you experiment
you will find the answers on your own, this will make you
a better scientist.

just remember, if you ignore this article, you should hold
yourself responsible for all the deaths and misery humanity
is going through right now.

every day, people are committing suicide, everyday evil
stuff is happening on earth, you will not deny the truth.

open up your eyes and accept it, i am the one that has cracked
the code, and give up that jealousy within you to become the
one, it is too late now, THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE "ONE".

here is the data you need, any color that is not 100% white
is responsible for abusing humanity.

colors do not come from white, that is why they are not white.
they contain darkness inside them, and darkness just like a
black hole pulls imagination and life, making humanity mortal.

wear white clothes dye your hair to white and experiment it.
wear black clothes and experiment it. i want results now
i want them fast.

infact i want you to shave your head and eyebrows and wax
all the body hair on your body including private parts.

anything dark near your body including sun-tan will pull
jealousy from other scientists that do not want you to rise
into power and they will control your mind and imagination.

they will turn you into religious freaks so you can ignore
science so you can ignore truth, they do it so they can be
"the one" or "the two" in this case now that there can no
longer be "THE ONE".

so ignore everything and only pay attention to me, find me
on youtube find me at places, i will start a site soon.
just find me somehow, i will accept your jealousy too
i can handle it, because i am the most supreme being on
this planet.

using black and white you can create a time machine too.
every time you are wearing black you will notice you are angry
every time you are wearing white you will notice you are happy.

white stops aging, black or any color will speed up aging.

immortality is here, we are all gods, i am sick of suicides
i am sick of jealousy.

imagination of humanity is pulled and you read it when
you wear black colors.

another experiment you can do is, sleep in a completely
white bed, with a white pillow and etc, make sure to
wax legs and etc, you will have a beautiful dream.

you will see me in your dreams if you do it right.
otherwise, you are just another jealous failure in the making.

i've done time travel, i've done reversing aging,
look around you, look at people around you, ones that wear
white clothes will always look more vibrant and younger.

this is because they are able to slow down or even reverse
aging ( YES, THEY ARE TIME TRAVELING in many senses )

the reason why WILL SMITH wears BLACK and yet he is
successfull, the reason why TOM CRUISE wears black and yet
he is successful, is because they wear WHITE UNDERSHIRT
and WHITE UNDERPANTS.

so, get the facts right, when you judge people make sure
you know what they are wearing underneath those dark suits.
those black suits.

if you got questions on how to do time travel, ask me on
youtube, i will give you the data.

there is a reason why earth is going worse and worse
because scientists just wont accept the fact that code to
infinity has been cracked, they have been banning me from
science forums and everywhere, their jealousy has already
resulted in many deaths around the world.

they are just to ignorant to accept the truth and start
their mission to save humanity.

one way or another i am going to ensure we turn into
immortal beings soon, yes there will still be suicides
around the world everyday, we can't stop it, but we have
to move fast to stop it.

failure to comply with my orders in a serious manner will
mean you are responsible for all the misery that is going
on on this planet as well as on other planets.

now use this data, if i give you any more, you will hate me
later, i want only the best scientists to rise into power
and save this planet.

everyone else, go to hell, your jealousy is not going to
get you anywhere in life, you are the reason people are
committing suicide everyday. every hour, every minute.

Rise or Die like the rest.

If you fail to rise, i will push it. you will not escape me.

if you are not a scientist, copy & paste this to scientists
to have your own ass saved by them.

ever seen the movie " THE DAY EARTH STOOD STILL"
coming soon, to a planet near you.

tell those suicidal ass-holes to hang on a little bit more
if you can, go on suicide forums and tell them to stop it.

in a few months i will get this party started like no other
and we'll stop death, illnesses, aging, everything.

all the misery will be over. TRUE INFINITY IS COMING.
fuk this nonsense hell-ride.

If you are wondering what those 2012 "dooms day" rumors
are all about, duh, it is me taking over this planet, and jealousy
will die forever.

NEW WORLD ORDER BITCHES, weather you like it or not
it ain't gonna stop.

jealous scientists are terrified, they see me in their dreams
but decent people love me. time to kill some jealousy

let's do it. call me a TERRORIST MASTERMIND if you want to.
because that's who i am.

IF YOU ARE A BIG SCIENTIST, you will see CROWS
around your window everytime you are not coming to me.

they will try to wake you up with their loud noise.

i will not accept jealousy. WAKE UP AND COME TO THE ONE.
THAT WILL GIVE YOU THE DATA.

YOU WILL ALSO HAVE NIGHTMARES IN YOUR SLEEP
IF YOU DENY ME.

YOU DO NOT DENY ME.

if you are a forum owner and you delete or suspend me,
you are responsible for not letting me wake up scientists.

you are a mass murderer.

if you do not spread this data to others.. you are a mass
murderer.

truth stands as TRUTH.

have no fear, but remember, even your own parents will
be used against you as you try to execute this mission.

you will notice phone calls, parents trying to talk to
you, etc, because imagination of jealous scientists out there
is controlling them and using them to delay your mission

using them to control you so you can not become "THE TWO"
or "THE THREE"

spread the truth and watch the money roll in like butter.
it gets better and better. do not worry about money at all.
i'll give it to you, billions, whatever.

but they will try to leave you broke so you can't execute
if you got $10 left in your bank account, use it wisely
or just use the internet forums, cheap and free way to
spread the truth.

right now i am broke, i almost committed suicide many
times, they were controlling my imagination, but it's too
late now, the code is cracked.

do not have any fear, i am on your side 100%, if you
have some jealousy in you, ignore it to the best you
can, it's not real you, it's them trying to make you
feel jealous. it's the dark colors around you sucking
up your imagination so you can start feeling jealous
and start feeling hateful.

put a white paper on them and your imagination will
SKYROCKET.

i call the shots, have no fear at all. get rid of
anything that is not 100% white. do not deny
yourself sunlight, just try not getting sun-burned is all.

sun-light will ensure you stay healthy and sharp
as you execute this mission.

get naked get some sunlight, when going outside
be careful, do not make eye contact with jealous losers
do not wear anything black.

wear a white hat on top of your shaved head.
do not give a fuk about anyone's voice, do not listen
to them, do not get excited, do not give into temptation

you have a true love out there somewhere that wants you.
you will find the right one if you just follow my orders.

I CALL THE SHOTS, FIND ME, ASK ME WHAT IS GOING ON.
i'll turn you into "THE TWO" or "THE THREE" have no fear.

stay away from cheap stores, only go to luxury places
even if there is no parking left.

be careful even with luxury places, those rich dudes
are jealous as well. try not saying "hi" to anyone
try not breahing the same air people are breathing.

get a nice air purifier for your room.
take a nice showever once in a while

make sure your room's walls are white, if they are not
white, either paint it or stick some white papers on it.

YOU DO WHAT I SAY, FIND ME FOR MORE DATA.
even if you are BROKE, find me. i will spark you.

if you do it right, you will never go broke, you'll
just keep getting more and more money from places.

do not smell the money too much, everything contains
imagination from sickness and jealousy.

do these things and i promise you will find your true
love.

do not be one of those people that get married just
so they can be seen as "hey look i am not a perver.t"

give up on marriage until you know the right one
through this code i will give you.

maybe the one you want is already married and screwed
with, do not worry, time travel is possible it can be
fixed and modified until you are satisfied 100%.

EVERYTHING IS POSSIBLE. GIVE UP ON FEARS, I WANT ZERO
FEARS. UNDERSTAND?

jealousy is controlling everything through anything that
is not 100% white, including clothes, items in the house.
hair on your body, and even your eye lashes.

IF YOU FEEL DEPRESSED, GET NAKED IN YOUR ROOM GET
SOME SUNLIGHT, WALK NAKED IN YOUR ROOM, YOU WILL BE
INJECTED WITH IMAGINATION AND DATA YOU NEED TO EXECUTE
YOUR MISSION.

OBEY NO-ONE, COMPLY WITH NOTHING, CHALLENGE EVERYTHING.
SICK THOUGHTS WILL POP UP IN YOUR MIND, IGNORE THEM.

YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS.
YOU ARE A GOD IN THE MAKING.

THOSE RANDOM SICK THOUGHTS COME FROM THEM, THE JEALOUS
LOSERS. THEY TRY TO STOP YOU.

IF YOU CAN NOT HANDLE THE SICKNESS INSIDE YOUR MIND
GO ON YOUTUBE LISTEN TO SOME SICK MUSIC, BY EMINEM OR
SOMETHING, ANYTHING IS FINE.

IF YOU ARE EXTREMELY STRESSED, JACK OFF TO PORN
DO NOT LET THEM TURN YOU INTO RETARDS.

YOU WILL JERK OFF, I WANT THAT PRESSURE TO GO AWAY
SO YOU CAN WORK AND SPREAD THE TRUTH.

THE TRUTH IS AS SIMPLE AS "WHITE STOPS AND REVERES
AGING AND MAKES US IMMORTAL" I WILL EXPAND ON IT
LATER.

NEVER GIVE UP ON WHITE, STRESS SHOWS UP BECAUSE YOU
DO NOT HAVE WHITE AROUND YOU. WITH EHOUGH WHITE
IN YOUR ROOM AND ENOUGH SUNLIGHT OR ANY LIGHT..

YOU CAN STOP THAT STRESS. THAT BUILDS UP AND TRIES
TO TURN YOU AGAINST ME. SO YOU CAN FAIL.

on youtube listen to songs such as..

DIG UP HER BONES by MISFITS
and SERIAL KILLER by SLASH'S SNAKESPIT

these will eliminate the stress. CALL YOURSELF A
"TERRORIST MASTERMIND"

you become the TERRORIST MASTERMIND that KILLS
IGNORANCE and SICKNESS that exists on this planet.

i am looking for those that do not fear calling themselves
TERRORIST MASTERMINDS.

whatever you do, do not go over the top, i do not
want to see you in prison, USE LOGIC to escape the loopholes
that exists on this planet. do not let yourself fall into
hospitals or prisons.

STAY SHARP, STAY LOGICAL, STAY SUPREME, GIVE THEM NOTHING
GIVE THEM NO REASON TO PUT YOU IN A MENTAL HOSPITAL
GIVE THEM NO REASON TO PUT YOU INTO A PRISON.

GIVE THEM NOTHING. IF POLICE SHOWS UP, SAY
"OFFICER I AM JUST A CRAZY GUY THAT'S ALL"

ESCAPE EVERYTHING, DO NOT DRIVE FAST, YOUR CAR'S
INTERRIOR IS BLACK SO THEY WILL USE IT TO CONTROL YOUR
MIND. BE CAREFUL, DRIVE SAFELY.

WHEN YOU SHAVE, SHAVE SLOWLY, I DO NOT WANT ANY CUTS
ANY BRUISES, PREPARE FIRST. CALCULATE EVERYTHING.

WHEN YOU WALK, WALK NICELY, DO NOT TRIP AND FALL OVER
ON A KNIFE OR A ROCK.

I WANT YOU 100%. CLEAN AND BEAUTIFUL. ONE MISTAKE
AND YOUR FINGER BREAKS, AND YOU CANT TYPE ON THE INTERNET
FOR A WHOLE YEAR.

I WANT THOSE FINGERS HEALTHY AND QUICK AT THE SAME TIME.
SPEED IS GOOD BUT SAFETY FIRST. BUT IF YOU DO BREAK A LEG
OR A FINGER, IT'S COOL. YOU DID IT FOR A REASON, HAVE NO
FEAR, YOU'LL BE ALRIGHT, YOU WILL GET YOUR REWARD LIKE NO OTHER.

BUT IT IS MY WISH TO SEE YOU IN 100% SAFE FORM.
100% SHARP, 100% GODLY, 100% SLICK ENOUGH TO AVOID PRISON
AND PAPER CUTS.

IF YOU CUT YOUR FINGER PUT A TAPE ON IT AND MOVE ON.
BUT IT MEANS YOU FAILED A LITTLE BIT, SO KEEP IT IN MIND
SO YOU CAN BE BETTER NEXT TIME AROUND.

THAT'S HOW I BECAME SUPREME ANYWAY. THAT'S HOW I WOKE UP
ANYWAY. AS LONG AS YOU UNDERSTAND WHY YOU GOT A PAPER CUT
AND HOW IT HAPPENED, THE NEXT CUT WILL BE A LOT LESS PAINFUL.

TRUST ME, IT'S NOT A MISTAKE BY YOU, IT'S THEIRY JEALOUSY
AND HATE THAT SHOWS UP IN DARK COLORS AROUND YOU, TO BRING YOU
DOWN.

LISTEN TO THE SONG ON YOUTUBE "YOU KNOW MY NAME" by CHRIS
CORNEL, do not think of yourself as RACIST just because you
feel like BLACK is a bad color, BLACK PEOPLE TOO WANT YOU TO
GIVE THEM THE ANSWER SO THEY TOO CAN BECOME IMMORTAL BEINGS.

IF SOMEONE CALLS YOU A "WHITE TRASH" IGNORE THAT, THEY ARE
BEING CONTROLLED BY SCIENTISTS THAT DO NOT WANT YOU TO RISE
INTO POWER.

BLACK PEOPLE WILL THANK YOU SOMEDAY FOR YOUR HARD WORK TO
GIVE THEM THE IMMORTALITY DATA. DO NOT FEEL RACIST ONE BIT
AS YOU EXECUTE THIS TASK.

FEAR NOTHING BUT BE SLICK, DO NOT LET YOURSELF GET HURT.

I WANT YOU SAFE, YOU ARE MINE.

EAT MEAT TO KEEP YOURSELF SAFE, BEST SAFEST BURGERS
ARE AT IN-N-OUT. DRINK SOME COFFEE TOO IF YOU WANT.

ENJOY IT, IT WONT AGE YOU AS LONG AS I AM IN CHARGE.

SHOW ME SOME REAL EVIL SKILLS BABE.
LET'S FUK THIS PLANET UP FOREVER.

DO NOT EVEN TRY TO FIND ME TO BE HONEST
FIND ME INSIDE YOUR DREAMS, I DO NOT GOT TIME FOR
YOUR SORRY ASS. YOU ARE ON YOUR OWN NOW.

YOU GOT THE SECRET, USE IT TO BECOME WEALTHY.
go watch EMINEM ON YOUTUBE.

THE NAME OF THE SONG IS "CRIMINAL".

"USE IT TO GET MYSELF WEALTHY" * WINK WINK *.

READY FOR SOME REAL ENTERTAINMENT?

ALSO WATCH "INSIDE THE FIRE" BY DISTURBED...
WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS GF, HAPPENED TO YOU TOO.

YOU ARE JUST TO BLIND TO SEE IT. SO LET'S KILL SOME JEALOUSY
LET'S FIX INFINITY.

IT'S NOT JUST EARTH, OTHER PLANETS ARE WAITING TOO
PEOPLE ARE COMMITTING SUICIDE EVERY DAY ON OTHER
PLANETS TOO, LET'S MOVE IT.

OH BY THE WAY, DEAD PEOPLE CAN BE BROUGHT BACK TO
LIFE AS WELL, EVERYTHING IS POSSIBLE.

WATCH ME DANCE.

S.U.M.E.R. K.O.L.C.A.K.

( now you know my name, there is only
one person by this name in the whole world, i am not a
clone like you failures. & i do not hide in the shadows
like you mass murderers. )
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

And this is Charleigh at her second birthday.

Her mother has had so many studio shots taken of Charleigh that she loves getting her picture taken.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

My Niece, Charleigh

These are some shots of Charleigh I took when she was about 8 Months old (probably).

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

A Twix too far.

I have two stripper stories.
One is funny; the other is slightly tragic.
This is the funny one.

Several people who were there, including the villain of the piece who ruined the fun for everyone else, passed this story on to me. As a lover of spoken word I fear the art of story telling is dying out. No longer do people sit around and recount tales of generations past. I hope to rectify this situation. Please pass this tail on, pass it on as your own if you wish. Just keep this wonderful human trait alive.

*Ahem*

In my parent's hometown, there is a rugby club. As is usual for these places, it has a function room that can be hired out to the public. Word got out that a promoter had hired it out to put on a show of exotic young ladies who would dance for the entertainment of the assembled crowd. Good times, as you might imagine.

Everyone who had an ounce of common sense realised that the young ladies in question would be strippers, and most likely good candidates for an appearance of the Jeremy Kyle Show. As such, tickets sold fast.

The big night came and men from far and wide flocked to the Rugby Club, ready to see some good old, best of British, filth. By all accounts, they were not disappointed. Two women, of acceptable appearance, took to the stage and began their act. Those who had attended to perhaps enjoy some cheeky burlesque or a bit of sexy Latin samba were in for a shock. These girls were filth. They got straight into the art of lesbionics. It was basically live porn, probably illegal and definitely contravening several health and safety byelaws. There were toys flopping about all over the place, strap-ons, whatever you can think of.

A large portion of the audiences were quite into it so, when the time came for audience participation, there were plenty of volunteers. I have it on good authority that none of the men who were up on stage actually had sex, though to be fair, they may as well have. There was a lot of face squatting and fluids and it was all very grubby and grotty.

I go into such detail, to provide accurate contrast to the upcoming event.

A Twix bar was brought out. One finger was predictably inserted into one of the young ladies front bum; the other lady consumed it "hands-free" (That's the sort of level we're working on here). Now for some more audience participation.

The second finger of Twix was gripped between the buttocks of the artiste who had just enjoyed the other finger. She turned her back to the front row and offered each man in turn to take a bite. Two seats in she got to ***** (friend of the family, shouldn't say his name).
He's a no nonsense gentleman and can be a bit mischievous at times. Seeing his opportunity for a quick lark, he placed his finger on the end of the remaining portion of chocolate coated, confectionary delight, and pushed.
Lubricated by the melting of the chocolate and various biological fluids produce by the first half of the act and the resultant slackening of certain barriers, the Twix slid perfectly up into the ladies back bottom.
It happened so fast that she didn't have time to react. Bless ***** for his commitment to his prank as he ended up with his finger tip inside too, just to make sure it was all in.

The young performer seemed to take exception to this biscuit based tomfoolery.

Throughout the act, the promoter had been standing at the back, keeping an eye on the goings on.

"Right it's all over, get dressed girls, everyone fuck off!"

Bemused looks on the faces of those present as they didn't understand how such a person could have such a sudden moral barrier.

You can let yourself have fanny batter dripped onto your face and suck on her used dildo in front of a room full of people, but if you so much as sully her reputation by putting something up her bottom, when there has already been a few things up there already.well I shall not stand for such unseemly behaviour and by Christ I will not let this evening of cultural exchange continue.

Everyone had to leave, though those who were last to leave were treated to the sight of the girl, half hidden behind a make shift curtain, squatting down, trying to poop out the offensive snack time delicacy.

The night was cut short, but this story lives on, and that is what makes it worthwhile.
For those of you who stuck through to the end of this blog, you have my gratitude, disgust and respect in equal measures.

The second stripper story will be up later this week, when I can be bothered. It is in no way as jovial as this one.

Peace out people.

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Mr Miyage is a hack.

This is about one sixth of my parent's bonsai garden. They have nearly 200 all together and they won't give me one. Bastards.
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Because Hollywood has broken my heart too many times...

Did you know that we have approximately 6 years until Back to the Future 2 becomes a total lie? That's right, we have 6 years to produce hover boards, flying cars and jackets with built in driers. More frightening, only 6 years for this here hat to become fashionable.

Obviously, those pioneers of fashion, indie kids are trying their best, but i fear tight trousers and complicated hair are leading them in the wrong direction. This cap is not the past. It is not the 80s. It is the future.

I don't resent them for their retro ways. It's history repeating, it always happens. If I had my way, pastel linen suits with the sleeves rolled up and slicked back hair would be right back at the forefront, but if we are to make wearing this hat acceptable, we need to get on the case.

People, we need this.
Be part of the solution.

This hat must be part of our lives.

More photos, though these are lower tier compared to the earlier ones.

These are some of my first efforts at taking proper photos, not just snaps.
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Heh, this is all the rage on Twitter. Come to me my followers, come to me.

This is my tweet (@nettofabulous) on the Evening Standard website...as such I have gathered 3 more followers. Good times.
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This is an excerpt from the PopBitch Email...brilliant.

Lord Delawdy writes: "A friend of mine was in Los Angeles 79 thru 87. Michael Jackson had had a huge hit with Off The Wall, and was recording the follow up. "The sessions were arranged for a very late start, and, after a night on the town, my mate popped around to the studio to see the producer. "He got into the control room to find that everyone's attention was fixed on the glass window. On the other side, Quincy Jones was kicking a pile of rags on the floor while shouting "Silent, you motherfucker! I said NO SQUEAKS!" "It turned out the pile of rags was a gibbering Michael Jackson. They were recording a new song called Billie Jean, and Michael had decided to fill every gap with his trademark whoops, clicks and squeaks. Quincy, however, had decided that the track would be a pared down. "After several hours of trying to get the singer to do what he wanted, and having consumed large quantities of ragedust, Jones had finally snapped and attacked the poor freak. Needless to say, after the outburst, MJ sang the song how he was told to, and the rest is history."
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I need to blog some more...

...But this will have to do in the mean time.
I am a frustrated photographer. What I want to achieve is beyond my skill set.
These are ok though...I think.
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Flower Small.jpg

I used to do lots of photo things.
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Big Brother - Don't judge me, you all watch it!

This years Big Brother seems to be in a bit of a pickle, rumours of crisis talks after falling ratings have caused bookies to slash the odds on the programme being axed before scheduled.
This happens every year. These rumours always fly around. But this year, it is apparent that the rumours may be true.

Obviously, as a random punter on the street, I am ideally skilled to advise football managers on which attack formations to use and I can run the NHS better than the government so I am more than qualified to give television producers ideas for how to improve their flailing creations.

Here's my pitch:

Do you remember BB1? The genuine element social experimentation? The collection of normal members of the public? The tasks for luxury shopping?
Big Brother was always watching. That is ALL he did. The housemates were, more or less, allowed to settle in and produce a twisted microcosm of society. There was the initial fight for who was most extrovert (fighting for the alpha position), with the spontaneous naked body art. There was the sexual tension brought in via an Irish erection. There was upset when a bean-head yelled his nominations in the Diary Room and other housemates heard it. And, of course, there was the Nasty Nick incident.
All of this was allowed to be played out via the normal human interaction of normal people in as normal situation as could be allowed in the confines of a TV show.

Fast forward 10 years and what do we have? A Russian female boxer, an Iranian who thinks he may be Salvador Dali and a bisexual posh boy who thinks he can sing reggae. Although these types of people exist, they are not representative of the population as a whole.
BB1 winner? It was a scouse builder who gave his winnings to a girl with Down's syndrome who needed heart surgery. Who could potentially win this year? A synthetic looking Brazilian teenager who thinks England is making him gay (maybe it is, we're well camp).
This year, the housemates entered the house to find that they weren't actually housemates. Now they have to complete a series of ludicrous tasks to ensure their place in the house. As if forming friendships and loyalties and alliances, to ensure you were not nominated, wasn't difficult enough.
Can it get any more ludicrous? Yes, it can!
How about we have some actual SAS members flood in and make them exercise?
Really?
REALLY?
Big Brother is no longer just watching, he's poking them in the eye and giving them wedgies.

Strip it down. Take it back to basics.
Have 16 people, in a house, having to interact to prevent boredom. We sit and watch. Sorted.

The problem is, again, the Heat generation (see my venomous, first blog). The outside of the norm characters gather so much coverage, that it appears that that way of living is actually more prevalent than it is. It's skewing the figures. In statistical analysis these outliers would be disregarded from the general figures, as they are anomalous. This isn't some (not so) subtle, fascistic diatribe. I'm not going to start mentioning head measurements. I'm just trying to say that if the house were filled with an appropriate array of the actual diversity we have in this country, it would provide more interesting viewing.
Minorities are called "minorities" for a reason. There are less of them. How one Gay person or one Muslim interacts amongst 10 white people of varying class will show go a good way to showing how the gay or Muslim communities feel interacting with a predominantly white population.

What I'm saying is, "Keep it real, not surreal"

Now I am off to kayak as I have a day off. Hopefully my next entry will be more light-hearted.
I do try to be happy, honest.

Peace out.

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I should be in charge of television.

Whilst drinking in the heady atmosphere of 13th Century Mongolia, why not consider the authentic yurt, for the duration of your stay?

At only 1 goat per person, per week, it's a relaxing, yet affordable and down-to-earth accommodation that caters for your basic needs.
24 hour yurt service will be provided.

During my stay, I was waited on by Qo'ai-marael Bat-Uul (or Steve, as I affectionately came to refer to him as).

For as little as 50,000,000 Togrog(The local currency) or 0.034USD you can get a constant supply of fermented yak's milk brought to your dwellings.

Set deep in the barren wastelands of southern Siberia, the harsh weather, limited food, blood-thirsty hoards and toothless smiles really give you a sense belonging.
Indeed, after wandering away from camp and getting lost for 3 days, I was glad to be back inside my yurt, draped in reindeer fur and smashed as tits off yaks milk.

With it's extreme continental climate and tribal warfare, C13 era Mongolia is not for the average jet-setter, though will prove a rewarding escape from the trappings of 21st Century living.

13th Century Mongolia is best visited in late Spring when the weather, though not at it's peak, means that food is plentiful and you are less likely to be invaded by a neighbouring tribe. For the more adventurous among you, consider early December to add a little vigour to your stay. Blizzards, sub-zero temperatures and the worry of the impending food shortages really keep the locals on their toes...as it will you.

That's all for us this week, join us again next week when the X-Files' David Duchovny takes a trip to Berlin, during the previous Ice-Age.
I join former US Olympic hopeful, now hopeless cripple Nancy Kerrigan on a jaunt round 1844 Ireland to see whether local eateries really did suffer during the potato blight.
And John Cleese brings us a little culture, the way only he can, when he visits Rome sometime towards the end of Emperor Nero.

I hope you join us, thanks for watching.
Until next time, good night.
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This is indulgent. I was just annoyed when I wrote this.

It's been a while, but here, have a taste of my life.

During the worst week, of the worst few months of my adult life, I almost came to breaking point. My job was trying to kill me. Every day has been like an episode of Casualty mixed with Final Destination.
On monday I was electrocuted by a mains extension cable 5 times!
I was wearing latex gloves. My safety boots have insulted soles. yet some how the pesky electrons managed to zap the living bejesus out of me.

I have what feels like a hairline fracture in the heel of my hand, tendon and ligament damage in my right arm, making this very difficult type by the way.
My right knee has a tender place directly beneath the knee-cap, making it very difficult/painful to kneel, which i do often at work.
To cap it off, yesterday a hammer drill got a bit frisky and decided to attack my only good limb. It tore into the trousers, which knotted up around the bit and tightened the material, cutting off the blood flow. The bit, hot due to constant use, strained to enter my thigh, being only held back by the strength of both of my weakened arms working at full capacity. The drill was aided by the leverage it gained from my trousers. My pulling back of the drill only angered it more as the drill-trigger was being plunged into overdrive, sending yet more urge to the hot metal hole borer, designed to rattle easily through concrete, to delve into my leg.
One final colossal, titan like pull saved my leg, but tore a hole the size of africa out of my trousers. Though the hole was huge, the debris was minimal.
The bit was so hot that it shrank the manmade fibres in the trousers.
I have also nearly lost two knuckles by being careless with a stanley knife. Cows keep pissing me off....I am far from happy.

[I was so angry back then, I'm way more mellow now]
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This was written in dec 2007. It displays pretty much my outlook on life. Festive.

Fucking Xmas
Well then, you all probably know that I am a misanthrope of the highest order. The overwhelming disgust and bitter disdain I hold for the fellow members of my species knows no bounds; so during the festive period I am a particularly seething, writhing, mass of deep seated ill-will and irascibility, and as recent events are only serving to amplify the impending total shutdown of "good will to all men", the thought of meandering through the hobbling hordes of bargain hunters sits as easy on my being as the sight of Humpty Dumpty sitting on that wall must have done to the one King's man on patrol who said "Stop titting about you egg bastard and step back off the edge, you arse!".

People piss me off.

HOWEVER...last night, whilst buying presents for the assembly of part-time atheistic, gift gluttons I refer to as my family, there was a moment of purity that made me smile a little bit and go "aww".

Having spent all my creativity points on choosing a gift for both my eldest niece and my nephew, and also after buying a hideously expensive leather jacket to cleanse the pallete (i may have bought you things but I spent many times more on myself....enjoy) I was left with an empty jar of resourcefulness with which to thrust web-ward and buy a prezzy for my other younger nieces.

Now despite what that pesky register claims, I have never yet had cause to get involved in the garments of a school girl. But knowing that teenagers are all tremendously particular in their apparel, I thought it best not to buy clothes, despite my sister saying "She likes playboy stuff".
Call me a cantankerous old character if you will, but I refuse to buy my 15 year old niece something that is endorsed BY A FUCKING PORNO MAG!

After resigning myself to the fact that I am totally without clue, I sent a text to young Abigail "What do you like? for Christmas and that."
The answer that came was precisely and fundamentally what people forget at this time of year, despite the religious hoo-haa that seems to be lost now (which is good). The feeling that you should just be an all round good shit to everyone and everything, should be an underlying rule for life.
That said, I'll be fucked if I'm going to be the first to take it up. I prefer being a perennial "Grinch" type figure, huffing and chuffing at the collective dregs of society that blights my existence.

I fear I may have digressed.

The message that I received, in response to my cleverly worded and subtle question, designed to surreptitiously draw out the requisite information, was as follows.

"Don't worry, you don't need to get me anything. Just give me a card. x"

Now isn't that lovely?

She'll regret that message though...Ross doesn't do cards.

Chump.

Merry Christmas.
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This was an adventure I had last year. It was fun, sort of.

Today I went for a lovely little walk. Up the coast road, along the marsh and off onto the airfield.

On Silloth Airfield, the periphery is made up of small businesses using the hangers and such, decommissioned from WWII. My Brother in law has a haulage business working out of there.

Whilst walking past his compound, well past dusk so it was pretty dark, I saw two scumbag chavoids legging it from the compound with a 5 gallon drum of diesel.

As i followed their path I found that they were parked between two huge stacks of pallets, one of the dudes was stood at the boot, facing me, while the other was doing something by the drivers door. I also saw one, maybe two heads in the back seats. Thinking i was grossly outnumbered I didn't confront them.
Sadly this is not the 1950's where you could grab a young gentleman by his collar and clip him round the ear, today they are likely to stab you up good.
As the boot was open I couldn't see the Reg. plate, so i walked on, looking without looking, once out of sight I secreted myself with the aim of getting the Reg. plate as they passed...they didn't, so I turned on my bionic legs and sprinted the mile into town to my sisters house.
Once there I got The B-in-law Robert. We jumped in the car and headed back to the airfield.
As we were pulling nearer to the place where they were parked I pointed out the pallets..."There, where that car is...hang on...they're still here."
We pulled in at speed behind them, and like Starsky out of Starsky and Hutch I leapt out of the car...bolstered by the fact that in the harsh glare of the headlights I could see that the rear passengers were female...I could totally take those bitches down if i needed to.
With my sights set on the driver I was well up for a scuffle. Sadly Chav driver had other ideas and started to reverse. Robert, scared that his car would get hit reversed. All this happened in half a second, so I was still behind the passenger door of Robert's car. The door hit me on the hip and twisted my leg. Ouch.
Robert took of under my instructions. I saw that they were heading towards the other entrance to the airfield, so I ran AGAIN, towards the entrance that we came in by.
Slowed by bottomless puddles and half my leg in tatters I got to the entrance just in time to see them fly by. This meant I had to run back into town, I was faster this time.
Once in town I did a lap of the back alleys looking for the car. Turns out they drove right through town, with Rob after them. He phoned the rozzers and they were picked up 5 miles out of town...Captured.
So I had a huge walk, two sprints and now a sore leg...but at least the chavs are going down, and probably getting their car crushed cos it might not be insured...Bonus.
Sadly I should have stuck around cos the other chav was behind the pallets having a piss and was left behind. I took off at such a lightening pace (honest) that I didn't see him, otherwise I'd have had the chance to get in amongst it.

GOOD TIMES....I need a mask...and a cape...and a sidekick...and a better leg.
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This was written over a year ago. Still relevant.

How has Ship Wrecked managed to be re commissioned by C4 again? It must be on it's 10th year. How the hell does something like this get by?
Sunday mornings on channel 4 are for hollyoaks omnibus to watch when you're hungover and endless Friends repeats...that is it.
The only time I will accept sending a bunch of overly dramatic, self important, slack chinned, pig-sticks to beautiful desert island is if there is an impending tsunami and the warning systems are disabled.

High Tide mother fuckers...high tide!

My advice to you. Sky+ it. watch it with the sound down and fast forward when ever there is a dude on the screen. If you put the right CD on to listen to you can imagine you are watching a baywatch highlight reel.

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Just why is it that Britain likes to drink?

For those of you who may not know, the national pass time of the UK is getting "shit faced", "rat-arsed" and totally "cunted".
The requirements for this are few in number and low in cost.
Every weekend the streets of cities and towns around this glorious nation are littered with the debris of our broken dreams.

In a climate where the celebrity/civilian line becomes ever more blurred, the common punter on the street seeks to mimic that big titted bint who won that reality tv show that time or that footballer who used to be a builder and was spotted playing in his pub team. Sadly, the mimicry is mostly reminiscent of the images published in Heat. Images of tramps and trogs, stumbling out of clubs, covered in various fluids and with some ropey mess of a human on their arm.

It seems this facet of the celebrity lifestyle is the most easily attainable.
Of course this is only a relatively recent phenomenon. The root of our impending liver failure, en masse, goes way back.

Anything that alters the mind to give temporary escape from reality has always been indulged in.
Egyptian slaves were fed on a type of beer that was heavily nutritious and cheap. It also maintained a level of maleability in the group mentality. There's a long tradition of keeping the slave/working classes happy with mind altering/controlling substances (religion anyone?). Traditions like that don't go away, they merely change.
Britain once had a state brewery to supply low cost alcohol to the public, this was an open effort to keep people happy. Happy people don't revolt.

Here in Britain we have a hard life, not by world standards, but for an advanced, developed country at the forefront of politics and technology.
In relation to our european peers we work harder and longer for less money. If this was the standard, and no comparison could be drawn, this wouldn't matter. But seeing more and more how the celebrity classes live, seeing how mainland europe lives, it instils in us an over inflated sense of entitlement. We want the cosmopolitan lifestyle. We want a holiday home in the south of France. We want the trophy wife. We want it all, but don't you dare expect us to put in the effort to achieve it. It should be ours by right. This is the mentality that is making us languish behind in all the things that matter. Literacy rates, health, voting turn outs.
We aren't poor, we aren't destitute. If the poorest of our population can afford Sky Digital and a mobile phone we are doing OK. We should work hard to achieve things. We should put in the hours to earn money.

We were born, that's the easy part. Now if we want a lifestyle, we mustn't be afraid to work for it.
By all means go out on a weekend for a drink, have a good time, but when monday comes, don't you dare complain about others having it better than you. If you can spend £50+ on a friday night, simply to get drunk, then you have the resources to afford a lot more than most people.

I realise that for a first blog this is quite heavy (and rather badly structured/worded), but I promise future posts will be quite light hearted...and shorter.
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